Thunderflies

In perfect aspect for the sun

the waist-high corn dry grass

crackles as we stealthily wade,

throwing up a firework display

of pale green grasshoppers

that pop into the air

in random arcs.

I’m bothered by thunderflies

drenching on my sweaty neck

and captivated by your lithe white legs

that carefully stalk, dressage fashion

through this wheaten sea,

the hem of your dress

skimming the feathered ears.

At the stream you are soon naked,

I sit next to your discarded clothes

now ignoring the thunderflies’ torture

intrigued by the curves arches and folds

your bathing body contorts into

stroked by the gentle ranunculus.

You bid me come, but

I must only spectate, to capture

this perfect moment that I realise is unique,

we will make love, for

this stream is indeed our rubicon

both realising things will have changed forever

by the time we journey home.

© Graham Sherwood 03/2018